


to curl at thy ease

by sammybammywammy



Category: Black Friday - Team StarKid, Hatchetfield Universe - Team StarKid
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fluff and Humor, Former Linda Monroe/Gary Goldstein, M/M, Man in a Hurry Swears A Lot, Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:35:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24783205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sammybammywammy/pseuds/sammybammywammy
Summary: Jeremiah sighs, absentmindedly running his fingertips over the scrap of fabric still clasped in his hands. Suddenly, he looks down, his brow lowering. It’s a scarf. Gary’s scarf, blue and white, and very dearly beloved. He forgot to return Gary’s scarf.Jeremiah curses.(or, jeremiah steals gary’s scarf.unexpectedly, they bond).
Relationships: Gary Goldstein/Man in a Hurry
Comments: 21
Kudos: 58





	1. act i

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alfredolover119](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alfredolover119/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3  
> i used the "jeremiah" hc name for miah, since i am unoriginal. however, it suits him well. enjoy!

\-----

Jeremiah sits on the metal of the lone waiting bench outside Hatchetfield Superior Courthouse, cold as the metal digs into his ass uncomfortably. It feels like a rod going straight up his ass. And, _of-fucking-course,_ it persists even when he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. _God, words cannot express how much Jeremiah hates jury duty._

Hatchetfield is too damn cold, though. No matter what he does, or rather, how many layers Jeremiah dons, he is always left with cold hands and an even colder spirit. 

Jeremiah taps his hand on his knee for several more minutes, before touching his ears and neck to try and get some blood flowing. For the most part, he’s unsuccessful.

He hears the opening and shutting of the courthouse door behind him, followed by a set of slow-moving footsteps. Jeremiah pays them no attention. He considers sending another angry text to his rideshare.

The man trods up to Jeremiah’s streetlamp and leans against the edge of the bench. His breath forms a billowy white cloud as he sighs, taking his phone out of his pocket and opening the screen. His brown bangs hang in front of his forehead.

Jeremiah recognizes the man as the lawyer from jury duty. He throws halfhearted a glare at him. Still freezing, he attempts to wrap his coat further around himself.

Gary puts his phone away and sits down next to Jeremiah on the bench. He rubs his palms on his neatly pressed pant legs, mussing them. As he finishes, Gary glances at him from his side of the bench.

Jeremiah meets his gaze. He feels his nose scrunch up in the familiar motion of a scowl. Gary raises an eyebrow, questioning.

“My ears feel like they’re going to fall off,” Jeremiah finally hisses. “How the _fuck_ do you people live here?”

The light reflects off of Gary’s bifocals as he grimaces. His brow draw together. “I’m not sure either,” Gary responds, adenoidally.

Jeremiah burrows further into his coat to escape the cold. The coat is large, yes, but that doesn’t mean it’s insulating by any standard. Gary is intent on watching him suffer, it seems.

“If you crawl into that coat any further, it’s going to swallow you whole,” Gary observes.

Gary’s voice is perceptively squeaky, and he has all the glamour and charm of a horny used-car-salesman. Something about him irks Jeremiah (and honestly, who _doesn’t?) ._ But, he's not _entirely_ repulsed.

Jeremiah scowls once again. “Fuck off.”

Gary laughs.

Jeremiah introduces himself at some point during the conversation, and they continue. Gary is surprisingly less irritating than he had thought. However, the cold still cuts deep into Jeremiah’s core. Gary cuts off mid-sentence when he sees the frown plastered on Jeremiah’s face.

“You know what? Here,” Gary says, reaching up to take off his outer coat, revealing a light blue dress shirt underneath. “Just take my jacket if you’re so cold. I don’t mind.”

The tip of Jeremiah’s nose reddens. “No. Absolutely not,” he rushes, resolute. “Fuck that.”

“But what if you freeze?”

Jeremiah eyes the coat with very poorly disguised interest. It looks warm and soft, despite being part of a suit. “I will not fucking _freeze, Goldstein.”_

“But-”

“I’m not taking your damn coat! I barely fucking know you,” he objects. “And you know what? Fuck this shit. I’m in a hurry. My ride’s supposed to be here any minute. I don’t have time for… this.”

Jeremiah crosses his arms and turns away from Gary, both looking and feeling like a petulant toddler. Sue him for being immature. However, much to Jeremiah’s ire, Gary is determined.

“Listen,” Gary thinks out loud, before settling on an idea. “A man waiting outside in the cold is a lawsuit waiting to happen! As a lawyer, it would be an insult to my judgment for me to _not_ give you my coat,” Gary recites, exasperated. 

Jeremiah wants to call him a fucking nerd (and he is one, thank you very much), but he doesn’t. Instead, he rolls his eyes and looks back at the lawyer. “I’m not gonna fuckin’ sue you, Gary-“

_“Hmph.”_ Gary pouts for a second, before getting an idea. A terrible, horrible idea. His eyes light up. “You could take my scarf instead.”

“Gary-”

Gary is already reaching up to his scarf, blue striking against the pink of his fingertips. He unravels the fabric and presents it in front of Jeremiah like a holy offering.

“I won’t hear another word of it,” he says, impertinent. “Hold out your hands. You can use it as a hand-warmer.”

“I don’t need your goddamn scarf, I’m fine! Leave it alone.”

Jeremiah prides himself on his strong willpower - he’s as bull-headed as they come, of course. But, unfortunately, Gary gives him a look. Jeremiah caves.

“Fine. I’ll take it.” Jeremiah grumbles, but he complies and presents his hands. “Fucking _lawyers,_ Jesus Christ.”

Gary places his scarf across Jeremiah’s freezing palms. It’s warm from the continuous contact with the heat of Gary’s neck. He wraps it around his thumbs and weaves it between Jeremiah’s fingers, making sure to not leave any skin exposed.

Gary is more… _tender_ than Jeremiah would have expected. He’s _gentle._ His thumb brushes the side of Jeremiah’s palm, warmth blossoming onto Jeremiah’s skin from Gary’s soft hands. Gary’s brow softens.

“See? Warm. And, even better, no audits for me,” Gary announces, smirking.

Jeremiah rolls his eyes. “Fuck you, Goldstein.”

Gary scrunches up his nose in mock distaste, but a smile ghosts across his lips. Jeremiah’s face heats up without his control.

After five minutes of sitting in silence, a black Porsche pulls up and takes Gary away. It's an expensive car, obviously, and far above Jeremiah's paygrade, but Gary seems to think that it's the most normal thing in the world as he collects his things. They exchange their goodbyes, but before Gary leaves, he offers to call him a cab. Jeremiah accepts, berating himself for not thinking of that sooner.

“I’ll see you around,” Gary says with an awkward pause. “Call me if you ever need a lawyer.”

“Yeah, _sure._ Fuck that.”

Gary rolls his eyes and gives him a wave, before getting in the car. He argues with the passenger before sitting down.

Jeremiah watches him leave, hands in his pockets, still grumbling to himself.

\-----

Jeremiah’s ride never shows, and the Uber that Gary ordered for him arrives in maybe 15 minutes.

Later that night, Jeremiah fumbles with his keys outside his door. It takes him an embarrassing amount of time before he finally jams the right one into the lock. The artificial and plasticky scent of his apartment wafts out as soon as he opens the door, welcoming him. His apartment has never been particularly ideal, but somehow it seems even less so. Colder, somehow.

He lets the door close behind him, and Jeremiah leans against the cold, hard surface of the wood. He sighs, and absentmindedly runs his fingertips over the scrap of fabric still clasped in his hands.

Suddenly, Jeremiah looks down, his brow lowering. It’s a scarf. _Gary’s scarf,_ blue and white, and very dearly beloved.

He forgot to return Gary’s scarf. Jeremiah curses.

\-----

Jeremiah starts seeing Gary around town on a regular basis. Hatchetfield is tiny at best, and fucking _cramped_ at worst, so it’s hard to avoid someone even if you want to. But it still annoys Jeremiah to no end.

Gary will throw him a casual smile in the self-checkout line at Raley’s (he stocks up on booze, and _god, Gary, why are you buying so many goddamn bags of cat food?_ ). Or, they’ll make awkward eye contact at the Houston’s barbecue while trying to ignore Mr. Richards. Jeremiah will be forced to make a quick and immediate exit out the back door before Gary talks to him. Or, hell, maybe Jeremiah will talk back.

It becomes easy, in a way. They aren't quite friends, and they never seek each other out besides accidental meetings, but it's nice.

Gary never asks about the scarf. Either he forgot about it (which seems more likely), or he just doesn’t want to ask after it. However, it’s still stored at the top of Jeremiah’s coat pocket. And unfortunately, he is cruelly reminded of him every time he dons his jacket. He already feels his ears reddening, that bitch.

Jeremiah threads his hand through the soft fabric of the scarf in his pocket as he walks towards Beanies. It is something to do with his fingers at least. A welcome distraction from any annoyances, should they occur. In search of his morning coffee, his mind is somewhere else as he touches the threads, body on autopilot.

Jeremiah is so distracted that he doesn’t see Gary standing outside Beanies’ doorway. Gary looks bored, left-hand scrolling through his phone. His right is holding a large cup of coffee in a disposable Beanies' paper cup. Jeremiah, not looking, plows right into Gary’s right hand.

Gary drops the cup as soon as Jeremiah’s shoulder hits it. “Agh-“ The coffee spills on the concrete, the dark liquid seeping out the top and creating a rather large puddle at Gary’s feet. “Ah, fuck,” Gary swears.

Immediately, Jeremiah comes to his senses and realizes his error. He sees the coffee staining the ground and Gary’s dress shoes. _“Shit,_ hey Gary,” he finally says. Great.

Gary rolls his eyes, of course. “Yeah, _Hey._ Thanks for that.”

Gary scowls. He looks the same as the first time he met him, except in a darker suit. However, he got a new scarf to replace the one Jeremiah stole, forest green with multicolored stripes. It’s slightly atrocious in the best way possible.

In the light, he can finally see Gary’s eyes. They’re bright, _brilliant_ blue, as if Jeremiah’s staring into the surface of a pool instead of into the eyes of a finicky layer. And, they’re glaring at Jeremiah.

Gary’s scowl is not a new expression by any standard, but Guilt, the cruel mistress that she is, presses her long fingernails against Jeremiah’s spine. Jeremiah swallows. He may be a bastard, but he has at least _some_ morals. On a good day, at least.

Gary picks up his paper cup and throws it into the trash. He gives Jeremiah another look as he walks, somewhere in-between a pout and a smile. _God,_ sometimes Gary makes Jeremiah want to blow a gasket.

“You know what, fuck it,” Jeremiah says, avoiding Gary’s eyes. “I’ll buy you a new goddamn coffee. Stop blocking the doorway.”

Gary smiles ever-so-slightly, and Jeremiah pushes past him and opens the door. He almost hits himself in the face with it, in his haste. Gary raises an eyebrow.

Beanies' is the exact same way as he remembers it, upscale and crowded. A large part of Jeremiah despises it, but since the alternative is the shitty-ass Starbucks down the street, he'll take his chances. Gary, however, seems very comfortable. They give their coffee orders to the barista. She doesn’t question why Gary’s buying another coffee.

Jeremiah orders as much sugar and caffeine that they could possibly fit into a glass for human consumption. It’s the only thing that can keep Jeremiah awake through the nightshift. But Gary tries and fails to hide his snort as he finishes. It’s an unusual sound. Jeremiah lowers his brow, mock-threatening. Jeremiah pays the woman in cash, mumbling for her to keep the change. She seems surprised but turns away.

After the barista walks away to prepare their orders, Gary dons a dorky half-smile, face slightly red. He looks at Jeremiah, who gives him a questioning glance.

“Your coffee order is… cute,” Gary says.

_“‘Cute?’_ What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Jeremiah groans. “Not so fucking manly, yourself, mister _‘audits-up-the-wazoo.’”_

“I don’t know!” he admits. “I just... I wouldn't have guessed you had a sweet tooth. It’s… so out of character.”

Jeremiah tries to read Gary’s expression. Unfortunately, he can't. Instead, he throws Gary an accusatory glance.

"Are you _judging_ me, Gary? How dare you - I’ll have you know, I have _exquisite_ taste.”

Gary snorts. “No. I was just thinking that my niece gets the exact same thing,” he pauses. “Except she’s 12.”

Jeremiah’s mouth drops open in mock surprise. “Woah, hold the fucking phone-"

Gary laughs. “So now you’re back to ‘Goldstein’? I thought we were passed...“

Jeremiah gives Gary a dirty look, and Gary looks incredibly satisfied. But his glasses are starting to fall down the bridge of his nose, and it makes Gary look like an annoyed librarian. Somehow, it's very cute. Jeremiah doesn’t know what to do with this information.

_“I swear to god, Gary, I will-“_

The crabby barista at the edge of the counter calls his name. He takes a final glance at Gary before turning to collect their order.

“This isn’t over,” he says. He gives him his best menacing glare. Gary scoffs and announces that he's finding a place to sit.

Jeremiah picks up the drinks and returns to the lawyer, who sat down in the booth in the corner. Jeremiah sits across from him in an unspoken agreement. Gary takes the coffee from his hand and their fingertips brush for a second. Neither of them makes any sign that they felt it.

Gary sips on his americano and makes small talk, leaning into the back of the booth. It’s cozy. They discuss work and Gary’s weird cases. Hatchetfield isn’t a normal town by any means, and of course, the lawsuits aren’t either. But Gary converses animatedly, moving his hands in energetic movements. It’s very distracting. But Jeremiah is content, strange enough as it is.

Gary is, of course, a total nerd. He has a stick up his ass and he’s easy to tease, but with a surprising backbone. Jeremiah doesn’t know why he expected anything otherwise. 

It’s easy to forget all the shitty things in life when he talks to Gary. He wants to keep it that way.

After more than an hour, Gary checks the clock on the far wall. He has an appointment in the law firm at 3:45. Jeremiah holds in a whine but lets Gary gather his things.

“I had fun,” Gary says. “You’re nicer than you seem, you know.”

Jeremiah gives him an animated groan. “Ugh, stop-”

“No, I’m being serious! You’re nice.”

“Ugh,” Jeremiah blanches. “You know, you’re a real fucking _Prince Charming, asshole.”_

Gary smiles, teasing. “Only for you."

Thinking back, he knows Gary’s words weren’t meant to hit like _that._ However, he flushes and looks down at his coffee cup. He plays with the lid, not meeting Gary’s eyes. Gary starts to stand up from the booth.

"Gee, uhh... thanks."

“Do you, uhh… wanna get coffee again on Sunday?” Gary asks, touching his glasses.

Jeremiah looks up at him again. The edge of mouth quirks upwards. “Fuck no,” he grumbles. “But, I’ll make an exception for you.”

Gary beams but wipes it from his face as soon as he realizes. They exchange phone numbers. When they finish, Gary stands up from their booth, nearly hitting his head on one of the hanging lights.

“I’ll see you around, Jeremiah.”

He watches Gary leave, waistcoat and the new scarf flapping in the winter wind. He isn’t sure what to think about the nickname. It sits strangely within his gut. No one has ever called him anything other than Jeremiah.

He touches the scarf in his pocket, face beet red.

\-----

Jeremiah gets a text from Gary about an hour later.

_[Hey, Jeremiah! It's_ _Gary, from the coffee shop. And the courthouse. You know, lawyer Gary.]_

Jeremiah writes out a response as soon as he gets out of the car.

_[yep, i know._ _jesus, gary, you sound like a telemarketer],_ he types.

Gary responds quickly. 

_[My brother is a telemarketer/lawyer, actually._ _He’s trying to privatize space travel. Venus, specifically.]_

_[you know, somehow that makes a lot of sense],_ Jeremiah writes, groaning.

\-----

Gary gets the courage to ask Jeremiah to meet for coffee a couple days later. He’s more nervous than he would like to admit.

Gary steels himself. _[Do you want to meet again on Tuesday?]_

_[fuck it, sure],_ Jeremiah responds after a beat.

Gary is very pleased with himself.

\-----

Beanies' becomes a neutral ground after Jeremiah spills Gary’s coffee. And soon enough, their interactions are regular. Gary will shoot Jeremiah a text, or Jeremiah will call him sometime before his shift, and they’ll get coffee. For Gary, it becomes simple. _Routine._

On their umpteenth time ordering coffee, the barista, Emma, waggles her eyebrow at them as they receive their orders. While Jeremiah peels the lid off his coffee and stirs it, Gary gives her a death glare. However, life is unimaginably cruel, and so is Emma. She laughs at him, and the truth stings.

Gary is infatuated with Jeremiah. Badly.

Gary doesn’t know how it started if he’s being completely honest. It _definitely_ didn’t happen overnight, but it didn’t take a long time either. He expresses a… _fondness_ for Jeremiah, and one that he hasn’t felt in a very long time.

He catches himself staring as Jeremiah runs his hands through his long hair. Jeremiah, of course, is too busy scowling to notice. But it’s so damn long and Gary wonders if this is divine punishment for some unforgivable crime he committed in a past life.

Gary blushes when he can finally get his companion to crack a smile. Jeremiah is a very tough nut to crack, and Gary takes a small amount of pleasure in knowing that he can reduce Jeremiah’s hard exterior. He loves the way they can just talk, without awkwardness.

Jeremiah is a coarse man, of course. He has a reputation to uphold. But, beyond what most people can see, he has a full heart. And frankly, he has more of a heart than the majority of people Gary has met. He’s kind, and he cares in his own way.

Jeremiah taps the stirring straw on the edge of his cup before throwing it in the trash. He raises an eyebrow at Gary, who’s still glaring at Emma.

“Can we take the coffee outside?” Gary asks, turning toward Jeremiah. “It’s too warm in here.”

“Sure.” He shrugs and gives him a nod.

They drink them in the parking lot, leaning up against Miah’s car. Gary adjusts his glasses before taking a sip of his drink. It’s still too hot, even with the trek outside. He groans.

Jeremiah looks over at him, brow pursed, thumb tapping on the edge of his cup. He stares for a moment. Gary flushes under his gaze.

“Can you see anything?” Jeremiah questions. 

Gary almost chokes on his coffee. _“What?”_

“You know,” he says, gesturing at Gary’s face. “Without the dorky fucking glasses, I mean.”

“Oh. Uhh…” Gary sighs. “Not really. If my prescription was any higher, I’d be legally blind,” he smirks.

Gary can see the gears turning in Jeremiah’s head. He gives a small _“Hmph.”_

“Also, hey, they’re not dorky. They’re _cool!”_

Jeremiah rolls his eyes. Gary, overcome with mock rage, gives Jeremiah a light tap on the shoulder with his cup. It does nothing. Jeremiah smirks but Gary is unphased.

“That’s fucking _adorable,”_ Jeremiah laughs.

“Haha, very funny,” he chides. “I am shaking in my boots. I know you love my bifocals.” 

Jeremiah lowers his brow and opens his mouth to protest, but he stops for some reason. Instead, he grumbles and sips on his coffee.

“They’re… _passable.”_ Jeremiah blanches. “Ugh, wait, no. Jesus, I can’t believe I fuckin’ said that.”

If it wasn’t so cold outside, and if it was literally _anyone_ else, Gary would think Jeremiah was _blushing._ Gary takes his silence as an answer and smiles, triumphant.

“Wait, you actually like my glasses?” he teases. _God, Gary loves him._ He is never going to let Jeremiah forget this. 

“Hell no, uhh… fuck. Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

“You have my word. I will never tell anyone that you think my glasses are cute.”

_“Cute?_ Ugh. Fuck you. I hate you," Jeremiah groans.

"No you don't. You love me."

"Remind me to never tell you anything ever again."

Gary moves to take a large swig of coffee to hide his blush and the smirk crawling up his face, but his cup is empty. Jeremiah catches his eye. They make the trek back to Beanies, Gary resisting the urge to pet several dogs, before throwing their cups away in the recycle outside Beanies.

“Who was the barista?” Jeremiah asks after they walk back to Jeremiah’s car. “You looked like you knew her from somewhere.”

“That's Emma. She's a family friend."

"Oh?"

"She's pegging my cousin, Paul,” Gary grimaces. 

“Ew. Gonna make me throw up in my mouth,” he says. Gary groans with him.

“Tell me about it. I have to sit next to them at all the family dinners. They’re disgusting.”

Jeremiah pales. “You poor bastard. I wouldn't last one day- ah fuck."

Jeremiah looks at his watch.

"What?"

"I forgot about my goddamn dry-cleaning. I've gotta head out."

Gary wants to ask him to stay, and he seriously considers it for a couple moments, but Gary has a meeting with a client at 4 PM and he’d rather not have to miss it. He would, though. Bad Yelp reviews be damned.

Jeremiah gives him a playful touch on the shoulder as a farewell.

“I’ll see you around?” Gary asks.

“Sure. I’ll call you later, asshole.”

Gary stands up from his spot against Jeremiah’s car and turns to Jeremiah. He seems strangely flustered. So, of course, Gary gets an idea.

“Thanks, Miah,” Gary says, returning his touch. 

Jeremiah’s reaction is immediate. He chokes and turns around.

“Woah, woah, hold on,” he sputters. “What the _fuck_ is a _Miah?”_

“It’s you! A nickname. I thought of it yesterday after I texted you,” Gary says, proud. “Isn’t it good?”

Jeremiah grumbles. “I don’t need a goddamn nickname, you shithead.”

Gary bounces on his heels, but Jeremiah seems slightly reluctant to meet his eyes. “It’s cute," he continues. What are you gonna do, _stop me?”_

“If you call me that again, I will _personally_ kick your ass."

"Oh really? _Personally?"_

"Yeah. Personally," Jeremiah says, crossing his arms.

"Well, now I'm really worried."

Jeremiah gives Gary a playful eyebrow raise. "I’ll kick your ass so hard that you’ll never walk again, fuckface. Just try it.”

“Oh yeah? Bet. I think you love it,” Gary smirks evilly. “I’ll see you around, Miah.”

Gary then turns around and begins the trek back to his office, Jeremiah muttering obscenities behind his back. Gary feels like the cat who got into the cream, holding back a laugh. He's not gonna let Jeremiah win.

“Fuck you, Gary,” Jeremiah eventually says.

Gary gives him a short wave.

\-----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was originally a test fic for writing aiah's interactions, but it was really fun. eventually, i refined it and got it ready for posting. i'm glad i did :)
> 
> kudos to zoe for motivating me to actually start writing. i debated making the title a big time rush reference (just for u, aha), but i decided against it. 
> 
> this goes out to all my aiah bitches. we really be out here shipping two background characters, huh.


	2. act ii

\-----

Jeremiah gets a text from Gary on Friday morning. It’s 10am, of course. _Fuck Gary and his early-bird job,_ he thinks. Gary is, of course, _still fucking typing,_ even after the original text. Doesn’t he have better things to do than wake Jeremiah up at the ass-crack of dawn?

Before Jeremiah plans for Gary’s untimely demise and the funeral service that will eventually follow (both at the hands of Jeremiah), Gary sends his final text.

_[I know we were gonna meet today, I got tied up at the firm.]_

_[I don’t think I have enough time to walk to Beanies :( ]_

_[Can you get the coffees and bring them to my office at 1? I can pay you back later.]_

Before Jeremiah can respond, Gary follows up his statement with an obscene amount of emojis. Jeremiah cringes.

 _[sure ig]_ Jeremiah types.

It takes Gary a minute to respond. _[IG?]_

Jeremiah’s mouth twitches upwards. _["i guess."_ _lmao you’re such an old man]_

_[ >:( That’s not very nice, Miah.] _

Gary sends another barrage of emojis, followed by one gif. It’s sickening.

 _[you’re gonna make me have an aneurism],_ Jeremiah writes, nauseated. _[i thought you were busy??? and s_ _top calling me miah]_

 _[I’m waiting for the client to show up. She’s late],_ Gary texts. _[Also, no :) ]_

 _[ugh fuck that’s annoying._ _ok fine you win, i’ll get you your damn coffee]_

_[Aww, thank you, Miah. I’ll see you at 1. <3 ]_

Jeremiah stares at the heart on his screen. The stupid fucking nickname is bad enough, but Gary sent him a heart. A goddamn _heart._ Jeremiah's face reddens, the feeling becoming increasingly common. He sits up from his position in bed, running his hands through his hair. And then, of course, he goes back to bed.

Jeremiah takes a scolding hot shower to stew in his self-loathing, but he still gets the coffee at 12:45. A caffeine bomb for him and an americano for Gary. It’s almost instinctual at this point. _Not-Emma_ (Nora?) seems confused when he asks for it to go, but he’s out of the building and on the path to the Goldstein General Attorney's office in less than ten minutes. 

Gary’s scarf has become a disgusting level of _near-and-dear_ to Jeremiah, even if he would rather _die_ than say anything about it. The blue and white scrap has now made a permanent home in Jeremiah’s coat sleeve.

Holding it puts him at ease whenever he feels anxious and angry, or when he feels like he’s moving too slow in a world that’s going too fast. Normally, he would say it has some kind of goddamn magical properties, but he knows that it’s just Gary; which, is even more sickening than the concept of the scarf itself.

When he arrives, he sends a _[hey i’m almost here, what room are you?]_ text to Gary. He doesn’t get a response, so he steps inside.

The desk attendant, a tall brown man who looks incredibly bored, buzzes him in immediately without a second thought. He sends Jeremiah down a hall with mismatched paneling, but with _G. Goldstein_ written on a plaque above the lone door at the end of the hall.

The door is ajar, and Jeremiah hears shouting. A woman.

Jeremiah lingers. He can see two figures through the crack. One of them is Gary, obviously, but the other is unfamiliar.

“I don’t see why you can’t make _time_ for me, Gary,” the woman says, sneering. “It’s not like you have anything better to do. You’re not seeing anyone, _obviously._ So why can’t we just-”

“No,” Gary finally snaps. Jeremiah can hear the irritation in his voice.

The woman laughs. “No? _No? Are you really-”_

 _“No,_ Linda. God, just…” he pauses. “I’m nothing to you."

_"Well I-"_

"Linda. We both know it. Stop pretending otherwise,” he snaps. Jeremiah seems just as shocked as Linda is.

Linda takes a moment to collect her thoughts. “Gary,” she finally settles on. “Fine. Have it your way. I’ll be seeing you next-”

“You know what? _No._ Find a new attorney to harass. Call my brother, or the woman in Clivesdale. Frankly, I don’t care,” he scoffs. “You’re horrible, Linda. I wish I said something about you earlier. I’m glad I finally grew a spine.”

A beat passes. _“Fine.”_

Quick, heeled footsteps tread over towards Gary’s office door. _Fuck,_ Jeremiah thinks. He has nowhere to run as Linda opens it, making her exit as grandiose as possible.

Jeremiah tries to move. _“Ah, fuck, shit!-”_

Jeremiah almost falls on her as she steps over the threshold. Evil incarnate is short, blonde, and looks like the woman who called him a slur in the Nordstrom parking lot.

“Who the fuck are you?” she spits at him, eyeing the coffee cups. She turns back to Gary. “Is he some kind of mangy… _PA? Get rid of him!”_

Linda opens the door wide enough for Jeremiah to get a glimpse of Gary. He looks frazzled but gives Jeremiah a soft smile and a wave.

Jeremiah glares at her. “Jesus Christ, no wonder he dumped you,” he sneers.

“Oh, fucking really?” she tempts. Linda looks ready to strangle him, face growing far redder than her ceramic complexion normally allows. “Listen, _whatever the fuck your name is,_ I’ll have you know that I-“

“Calm the fuck down, I don’t give a shit,” he interrupts. 

“Oh-ho-ho, you’ve got some bite, huh? Big talk, coming from a man who looks like the raccoon that crawled out of my neighbor’s _garbage can_ last night. _”_

“You know what? Fuck you,” Jeremiah says. “You're a fucking bitch. But you can’t talk to him like that. Gary’s not a fucking dog that you can tote around on a leash.”

“You’re being an insolent little-“

 _“Little?_ ” Jeremiah laughs. “You’re one to fucking talk, ma’am. I could step on you.”

“Why, I should-”

Gary stands up from his desk and stands between them. They continue to scream at each other. 

_“STOP IT!”_ Gary yells. 

They both pause, looking at Gary, seething with rage. Gary places a hand on Jeremiah’s shoulder.

“Linda. Please, get out of my office,” Gary sighs. It’s jarring, despite the lack of heat behind it.

Linda stands there, open-mouthed. Gary glances at Jeremiah and mouths a quick _I’m sorry,_ which Jeremiah returns with the softening of his brow.

 _Gary is too nice,_ he thinks, feeling the weight of Gary’s hand warm against his shoulder. It’s reassuring, in a sense, even if he doesn’t exactly need it. Gary’s glance towards him is more tender than expected.

Linda watches them, her mouth agape, thinking. After a beat, her brow quirks upwards. “Huh.” 

She looks like she is about to say something, but doesn’t. Linda steps into the hall without a second glance.

“Well, good luck with your _boy toy,_ Gary,” she says. “Sounds like you’re gonna need it.” Linda slams the door shut behind her.

Gary peels his hand away from Jeremiah’s shoulder to watch her go. The silence is deafening as Linda’s footsteps echo down the hall. Jeremiah hazards a reluctant glance towards Gary. He’s frazzled, face red, with his hair out of place from it’s normal gelled hold. A single brunet strand is hanging in front of his left (right?) eye, taunting him.

His mind is suddenly drawn back to Linda. He thinks of her spat with Gary.

“Listen, uhh… that sucked, Gare,” he admits, the nickname sliding off his tongue with ease. “I’m sorry. She seems like a bitch.”

“It’s-”

Jeremiah groans. “Shit, I probably made that way worse, didn’t I?”

Was Linda Gary’s lover? Gary had never mentioned her before. Why _hasn't_ he mentioned her before?

Gary bites his lip. “No, you were fine. Err… thanks. But you didn’t have to do that, you know,” he chides.

 _“Someone’s_ gotta stick up for your nerdy ass,” says Jeremiah. “Might as well be me. Can’t have you getting sad or... whatever-the-fuck, I don't know.”

Gary rolls his eyes. Jeremiah hands him his americano from his left hand. Their fingers brush.

They don’t talk about Linda. They sit on the edge of Gary’s desk and talk about how they got Jeremiah’s coffee order wrong. They talk about work. They talk about the weather. They don’t talk about Linda’s assumption, either. In fact, according to Jeremiah, they can’t talk about it, unless Jeremiah wants to fucking _self-destruct._

However, Jeremiah can’t help his curiosity.

“Why was she so damn upset?” Jeremiah asks, empty cup on the edge of Gary’s desk. “It wasn’t her fuckin’ business.”

“I told her something she didn’t want to hear.” Gary sighs. “About me. I figured out some… things. And they disappointed her.”

“Hmm.”

“Yeah,” Gary agrees.

Jeremiah finally gets the guts to ask the question on his mind. “So were you…?”

“Together? No. Not really,” Gars says, looking down at his hands. “She was… using me, I guess. And besides, we weren’t exactly… err, compatible.”

Jeremiah fails to understand what that means, but he gives Gary an awkward pat on the shoulder.

Unfortunately, though, work continues for Gary. He has another appointment with the Fletchers in 10 minutes, so he sends Jeremiah away. He stands up from the side of his desk begrudgingly, almost knocking over a mug filled with dozens of pens.

Jeremiah lingers at the edge of the door, Gary bidding him farewell. Something seems… off, but Jeremiah chalks it up to nerves.

“Thank you, Miah,” he smiles. He touches Jeremiah’s shoulder again.

As Jeremiah turns away, once again, the weight of Gary’s scarf in his pocket feels astronomically heavy.

\-----

Life continues as normal, even after the Linda-thing blew up. Gary and Jeremiah still meet for coffee. Now, Gary sends messages that _aren’t_ coffee invites. And, sometimes, Jeremiah does too.

 _[Hey, Miah._ _Look at this cat I saw on the way to work. Isn’t he cute?_ _I wanted to give him a hug but he wouldn’t let me :( ]_

Gary attaches the picture of the cat. It was a big orange tabby. In a way, it reminds him of Jeremiah. He can see the resemblance.

 _[gary…_ _do NOT try and hug stray cats on the street._ _it’ll fucking kill you]_

_[But look at him! He’s so cute :( ]_

Gary sends another set of pictures.

_[if you get rabies, it’s not my fault.]_

Gary scowls.

\-----

_[i saw your cousin at the hospital today],_ Jeremiah texts. _[he was getting a check-up. the barista was with him.]_

 _[Really?]_ Gary writes. _[Did you say anything?]_

 _[hell no, he’s annoying._ _and the barista already hates us. do you want her to poison us?]_

_[Emma would, wouldn’t she?]_

_[definitely. do you want to get coffee on saturday?]_

_[Sure, Miah. <3 ]_

\-----

Jeremiah's lungs constrict every time Gary stands close to him. He yearns for Gary’s touch when their hands brush. His face warms and turns neon pink when Gary gives him a grin, eyes crinkling, the way he smiles _only_ for Jeremiah. He sees the way his fingers itch, wanting _more, always_ wanting _more._

Instead, he keeps his hands in his pockets, holding onto Gary’s stolen scarf like a lifeline. Like it’s the only thing tying him down to Earth.

They’ve known each other for six coffee-filled months, now. Six months filled with shitty jokes, laughter, and the softening of Jeremiah’s hard edges. Gary has had an overwhelmingly positive impact on Jeremiah’s demeanor, to his chagrin.

Jeremiah got a positive assessment at the hospital for once. He's less coarse when treating patients, and less likely to snarl at someone for standing in his way. He holds down the urge to bark when someone looks at him wrong, or when a patient tries to antagonize him, and his supervisors have noticed. At this rate, Jeremiah might even get promoted; or at least, taken off the night shift.

Gary is a dumbass, Jeremiah knows. He’s a nerd and a coward and a fool. But, he makes Jeremiah feel like he’s someone _capable_ of doing good. He makes Jeremiah kind. He makes Jeremiah want to be something better than the town-asshole.

At Beanies, again (because it’s always Beanies, isn’t it?), they meet in the golden hour after Gary gets off from work. Gary’s face is flushed in the spring heat, and his tie is disheveled, but he arrives with little hesitation. However, a pair of asshole teenagers stole their table and are making out on top of it, so they sit by the window.

The window is tinted blue, and the low sun shines through, painting Gary’s glasses in the late-evening-glow. _He’s cute._ Gary is distracted, staring into his coffee, face slightly pink. Jeremiah basks in the silence.

Gary looks up at him, suddenly, catching Jeremiah staring. “Do I have something on my face?” he asks, naïve.

Jeremiah fumbles. He’s been doing that more recently, hasn’t he? “Uhh…” _think of something, think of something, think-_ “Yeah. Here, fuck, let me get you a napkin.”

Jeremiah grabs three napkins _(that is too many,_ he notices, belatedly, attempting to stuff one back into the metal container) and places them on the table in front of Gary, right next to his ceramic mug.

“Is it on my lip?” he asks, picking up one of them.

“Uhh… shit, yeah, sure.”

“You don’t seem convinced,” Gary hazards. 

Jeremiah looks away. He looks at Emma at the counter, looting through the stack of cups. _Is she fucking watching us?_ Emma, of course, is not.

“Fuck, just… yeah, it’s on your lip.”

Jeremiah glances back to Gary, who is now licking his bottom lip in a way that makes Jeremiah incredibly hot under the collar. _Jesus Christ, I need to get my fucking shit together,_ Jeremiah thinks as Gary puts his tongue away.

“Did I get it?”

“Fucking hell, yes! _Jesus Christ,”_ Jeremiah mutters, face beet red. His voice catches and he stares at his coffee on the table.

Gary gives him a smile (an increasingly common and gut-clenching sight) before sipping on his coffee again, oblivious as they come. Gary Goldstein is too much for him, in the best way possible. 

Jeremiah has too much in his heart, roiling and churning like the ocean and too vast for Gary to do anything but crash onto the shore.

\-----

_Gary deserves better,_ Jeremiah thinks later that night after significantly too many feelings crash down onto him. Gary deserves someone who isn’t coarse and grating. Someone who can be there for him. _Someone who isn’t drowning in his own emotions,_ for God’s sake, Jeremiah groans.

Jeremiah feels the shower water pour down his face and into his eyes, baptizing. He has to get ready for work in a couple hours. Shampoo drips down from his hair and into the dips of his scapulae, pooling in the drain at his feet. He clenches his fists, arms trembling.

Jeremiah wants to call Gary. He wants to tell him how he feels, before his emotions bubble over the edges like an overfilled pot on the stove. Before he gets burned.

But he can’t. Not really. Gary doesn’t feel the same way. He can’t feel the same way. It's not possible. _Stupid, so fucking stupid, Miah._

But there it is. Gary’s _stupid_ nickname for him. _Stupid,_ and _incredibly_ endearing. _Miah._ How could he forget, with the way it fills his thoughts and takes control of his mind like a vise. He plants his forehead on the wall of the shower, breath coming out in uneven gasps. _Miah. Miah. Miah Miah Miah-_

 _He doesn’t want you. You know that,_ Jeremiah thinks. _Not in the way you do._

Jeremiah blanches. He wants to vomit. But, of course, he can’t help but hope. Common sense isn’t going to stop his wounded heart.

_But what about earlier that week? He didn’t even tell you about Linda until she was screaming at you. Does that sound like hope? Does that sound like love? He doesn’t trust you._

He grits his teeth and closes his eyes, blocking out the light.

_He doesn’t love you._

Hot tears fall down his cheeks for the first time in years. The shower wall supports him like a stone, but it is unsatisfying.

 _Bzzzt,_ Jeremiah’s phone buzzes from the hallway, catching him by surprise. It’s the shrill ringtone that he never bothered to change. He wants to sit and wallow, but he doesn’t. He looks up, washing the shampoo out of his hair before clambering out of the shower to answer the phone.

He ignores his scrubs sitting on the counter and wraps a towel around himself. Jeremiah misses the call. It goes straight to voicemail as soon as his finger lingers over the answer button.

 _“Hey, Miah,”_ Gary’s voice plays after a beat, staticky and distorted. _“Err… I’m not sure if you’re off right now… but do you want to come over tomorrow night? I can make dinner if you want. We could watch a movie! Or… I don’t know. I didn’t really think this through. Sorry. I know we just saw each other but…”_

Gary hesitates. Jeremiah can hear the gears in his head turning.

_“You seemed upset when we left, at coffee today. You’re my… best friend, you know. And I hate it when you’re upset, cause then I get upset, and then it’s a whole… thing._

_“Ugh, that was stupid, I’m sorry. I know you’re-”_

Jeremiah has had enough of this. He picks up the phone. “Gary?”

“Hey,” he greets. “I was just-”

“I’ll come over, okay? No need to… pour out your damn heart and soul, or whatever.” Jeremiah breathes, flushed.

“Is tomorrow at 7 okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s good. It’s uhh... fucking great!” _Stop making a fool out of yourself, Jeremiah,_ he curses.

They talk for a minute. It’s mundane. Gary is bored sounds more than a little tipsy, Jeremiah deciphers, from his slurred speech and light pauses. But Jeremiah is painfully aware that he’s not dressed. He continues the call for Gary’s sake alone.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t be _laaate,”_ Gary draws out, teasing, tongue between his teeth. 

Jeremiah hears him fucking _giggle._ Like a fucking _schoolgirl._ Shit, Jeremiah’s too sober for this.

“Yeah, yeah, since when have I ever been late? I appear precisely when I am needed. Watch your fuckin’ back, tall ass. I’m like an assassin.”

“Tall… hey!” Gary whines after a beat. “You’re rude. I’m not _that_ tall! You’re just…”

Gary trails off, tittering as Jeremiah’s brow lowers playfully.

Jeremiah laughs, challenging him. “I’m just _what,_ Gare?”

“Uhh…”

_“I swear to God, if you’re fuckin’ calling me short, I will personally-”_

“I didn’t say anything!” Gary exclaims, amusement lingering in his voice.

Jeremiah rolls his eyes. 

“Goodnight, Miah,” Gary says after a particularly long pause. Gary must be getting tired. “I’ll… err, see you tomorrow.” His words are so soft. _Too soft._ The pain in Jeremiah's chest returns.

“Goodnight, Gary,” he chokes after a long pause. Gary laughs and hangs up the phone.

Jeremiah sits on the bed for a moment, contemplating his potential demise at the hands of Gary. 

Gary’s gonna find out about his feelings. Gary is oblivious, fortunately enough, but he’s not stupid; and Jeremiah can barely even string a sentence together without blushing, let alone _visiting Gary’s apartment and having dinner._ Gary’s gonna fathom him out before the first hour’s up.

He considers just calling Gary back and telling him he has plans. It would be easy.

Jeremiah thinks of all the coffee dates. He thinks of Gary’s soft laughter, and the way his sky-blue eyes seem magnified by the fucking _comical_ glasses that rest on his nose. He thinks of the way Gary saves him a seat at the table, or when Gary offers to pay when Jeremiah hasn’t gotten as many shifts at the hospital. He thinks of all the dumb and minuscule things that make Gary _Gary_ and realizes that he can’t fucking cancel. Not now.

He has to go to dinner with Gary. It would ruin both of them otherwise, especially when Gary poured out his heart and soul into that call. However, his feelings remain.

Jeremiah is in love with Gary.

 _Gary can’t know,_ he thinks. He can’t ruin what they have. He’ll go to dinner, of course, but Gary can’t know.

Jeremiah gets ready for his shift in an hour, head and heart full.

\-----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was my favorite segment to write, by far. gotta love linda.


	3. act iii

\-----

Gary pulls at the neckline of his dress shirt, pulling a bottle of expensive wine his mom gave him maybe 10 years ago out of his cabinet. He’s overdressed, of course. He gets rid of the tie. But now he feels _naked,_ so he tries to put it back on, and then it’s just a mess.

Gary's chest is going to explode. This could be considered a date. With Jeremiah, a terrifying thought on its own.

They've always had the pretense of coffee lying over their heads. And now? He tries to un-strangle himself as Jeremiah rings the doorbell. Gary grimaces. It’s now or never, he supposes.

Gary abandons the wine on the counter and manages to fix his tie before Jeremiah throws a fit. But he rings the doorbell two more times for good measure as Gary walks over. He opens the door, giving him a small grin as they exchange greetings.

“Hey, fucker,” Jeremiah says, confident, looking very at home in the apartment hallway. He gives him a wave.

“Hi! Uhh…” Gary gestures to his open door. “Dinner’s ready if you’re hungry.”

Jeremiah steps inside. “Fuck yeah. Remind me never to bully you again,” he says, giving him an affectionate bump on the shoulder.

Gary smiles. “I’ll remember that.”

Jeremiah rolls his eyes and gives him a nod. Gary smiles and returns to the kitchen, leaving Jeremiah to take off his shoes. Hesitantly, he leaves his coat on the rack by the door. Gary thinks it’s cute.

Gary left the TV open and Jeremiah is already picking through his catalog while Gary put together the last steps in dinner.

“I wasn’t really sure what you wanted to watch, so I left it open,” Gary says.

Jeremiah looks through the catalog for about a minute before settling on some mindless action movie. Gary would have picked something else, but it’s not his place to complain. Gary returns with two bowls, and they sit beside each other on the couch as the opening scene plays.

“What did you pick?” Gary eventually asks.

“No goddamn idea.”

Gary rolls his eyes. “If it’s terrible, it’s your fault.”

“Hey, fuck you. My taste is exquisite. _Superb.”_

“Somehow, I find that very hard to believe. If your taste in coffee is any indication...”

“Fuck you, Gary.”

Gary can't find it within himself to be mad. Unfortunately, though, Gary notices 10 minutes later that this movie is _nauseatingly_ boring. Figures. Jeremiah seems engrossed enough, though, so Gary doesn’t say anything. 

Gary, instead, gets an evil idea. A cruel, terrible, evil idea.

After they finish dinner and put their plates on the table, Gary leans onto Jeremiah’s shoulder.

Jeremiah stiffens immediately, as expected, and Gary feels like an asshole. But after a moment, Jeremiah relaxes into his touch. He is reluctant to initiate any more physical contact, though. He leaves Gary to hang off his arm.

The movie ends, with little event. “That kinda sucked,” Gary says as the credits roll, still tucked against Jeremiah.

“Wait,” Jeremiah says, brow furrowing.

Gary gives him a quizzical look. “What-”

“I only sat through the shitty-ass movie because I thought you were watching it! Why the fuck didn’t you say something?”

“I thought you were watching it!”

“Fuck no, I stopped watching like 10 minutes in.”

Gary groans and presses his forehead into Jeremiah’s coat. “We’re… very intelligent, aren’t we?”

He stands up and takes the dishes into the kitchen to deal with later, but he soon settles back into the crook of Jeremiah’s arm.

Gary is very curious how far he can take the cuddling before Jeremiah says something and inevitably blows his head off. Jeremiah doesn’t seem like he would be a… cuddly man, so there’s only so much he can take. And, of course, his shirt is soft which is a further incentive.

“Speak for yourself, dumbass,” Jeremiah smirks. Gary quirks an eyebrow.

“Do you want to pick something else, then?”

“Hmm. No. You choose.”

Gary shrugs and moves from his place on Jeremiah’s shoulder to pick out a new movie. It feels strangely cold without him. But Gary eventually settles on a spy thriller.

The new movie is interesting, at least. It seems to have a sufficient number of explosions. On a good day, Gary might have actually put an effort into watching it, if he wasn’t so distracted by Jeremiah.

Gary sneaks glances at him when he thinks he can get away with it. Jeremiah’s handsome, in the coarsest and least-affectionate way possible. And, of course, since the line between _cuddling_ and _not cuddling_ is now muddled, it’s kind of hard for Gary to _not_ look at him.

His long curls are pulled back slightly from his face, and the darker shirt highlights his eyes in a striking manner. And from their close quarters, Gary can smell his aftershave.

Gary is unquestionably whipped.

Jeremiah will occasionally comment on certain aspects of the movie, but Gary is finding it difficult to focus through is internal turmoil. After a particularly large explosion in which the protagonist narrowly escapes, Gary’s eyelids feel a little bit heavier than they should be.

Jeremiah shifts against him, allowing for Gary to make himself more comfortable, and starts to fidget with a stray thread on his pants. Once again, the credits roll, but neither of them says a word for a couple seconds.

“That was slightly better,” Jeremiah says.

“Mhm,” Gary mumbles.

“Do you want to watch something else?”

Gary attempts to straighten himself but to no avail. “Sure, yeah.”

Jeremiah picks some historical drama and presses play. Gary doesn’t even last 10 minutes before he passes out on Jeremiah’s shoulder.

\-----

“You fallin’ asleep on me, Gare?”

Gary mumbles and pulls himself deeper into Jeremiah’s shoulder.

Fuck. _Fuck fuck fuck fuck-_

God, it was bad enough with Gary fucking _cuddling him_ (Jeremiah didn’t have the heart to tell him off for it, and maybe Jeremiah is a greedy bastard, so it was a win-win situation) but now he _actually_ wants to get steamrolled by Satan’s greasy dick. 

Gary fell asleep on his shoulder. _Gary is asleep on Jeremiah’s shoulder._

Jeremiah wants to fucking scream. He wants to beat the shit out of something, or someone - _himself, maybe?_ He groans instead and runs his hands through his hair.

Jeremiah s unlikely to fall asleep before the ass-crack of dawn. Perks of the night shift. But Gary’s an attorney with _normal_ fucking sleeping habits, who _doesn't_ stay up until 5 every evening. He should have figured something like this would happen if he made Gary stay up until sunrise. _God, I’m a fucking dumbass,_ he thinks.

The movie is abandoned at this point. As much as he would _love_ to ignore the fact that Gary is on his arm, he hazards a glance at him. He’s definitely asleep, yeah, and _fucking adorable,_ to Jeremiah’s ire. Gary’s glasses are crooked on his nose, almost falling off of his face completely. Jeremiah rolls his eyes. 

With as much care as he can possibly muster (which is not much), he lifts the glasses off of Gary’s face, folding them and putting them on the coffee table. Jeremiah leans back onto the couch.

“God, you’re the worst, Gare,” he says, voice dripping with affection.

Gary says nothing. He imagines that Gary would make some dumbass comment about how much Jeremiah loves him anyway. Which is more true than Jeremiah would like to admit.

Jeremiah was planning to go home at 11, but he can’t just fucking _leave_ while Gary’s asleep. He weighs his other options, but leaving a note would feel stingy, and he’s not gonna wake Gary up, either. So, instead of running away, Jeremiah waits. 

He checks his email on his phone for about half an hour, and then makes a halfhearted attempt to watch the soapy ass movie he picked until it ends, and _(as a modern technological genius, thank you very much)_ figures out how to turn off the TV. At around 1:15, Jeremiah checks his phone again, rinse and repeat.

Gary is still absorbing his body heat like a leech attached to his arm. He looks… _different_ without his glasses. Less dorky, for one. But it feels _wrong._ It makes Jeremiah want to drop his goddamn pants and puke at the same time. It doesn’t feel like the nerdy bastard Jeremiah has grown to adore.

Jeremiah sees that he misplaced a hair on Gary’s forehead when he pulled his glasses off of him. He leans over him to straighten it.

As he touches Gary’s forehead, Gary immediately bolts awake. Jeremiah recoils instantly.

_“Miah, wh…?”_

Shit. Jeremiah is _fucked._

How the fucking shit is he going to explain _‘Hey, sorry bud, I just was playing with your hair and holding your face while you were asleep, no worries. By the way, you’re fucking adorable. And I couldn’t control my grabby goddamn piece-of-shit fingers because I fucking love you, and I’ve loved you for months. No big-'_

He can’t, obviously. So Jeremiah bolts. 

Gary rubs his eyes and grabs his glasses as Jeremiah stands up from the couch. He peels away towards the door.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Gary asks, groggily. “Did something-”

Jeremiah turns toward him, teeth already clenching, arms shaking. He puts a hand in his hair.

“No! Just…” he hesitates. He looks at Gary, who found his glasses and is now walking towards him at terminal velocity. “Fuck!”

“Woah, okay, we’re really doing this,” Gary says, eyebrows raised. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Something in Jeremiah snaps. “Nothing! Jesus Christ, I’m fucking _fine._ I’m fucking _peachy,_ actually, and I-”

“Miah. It doesn’t _sound_ like nothing,” he says, brow lowered.

Jeremiah grimaces and turns away. “Okay, _Jesus fuck, fine_. It doesn’t matter, I’m leaving.”

Gary places a hand on Jeremiah’s shoulder. “Miah, calm down. It's fine. Just...”

“Okay, you want the truth, then? _No,_ it’s _not_ fucking fine, _Gary!”_ Jeremiah recoils. He heads towards the door. “I’m having a goddamn mental fucking breakdown.” 

“Miah-”

“And stop with that goddamn shitty-ass nickname! I hate it. It’s gross and I hate it and I can’t control myself and-”

“Jeremiah.”

“No, fuck you! I need to-”

Gary follows him. Jeremiah grips the door handle and moves to open it, but Gary places a hand on the frame.

“Jeremiah,” he says, voice finally shaking off the last vestiges of sleep. “Stop. We can…”

Jeremiah looks up at Gary. There’s no fear, or anger; only trust, and hope. And tears. Jeremiah’s rage dissolves like sugar in a pool of water.

“I need to go,” he says, voice breaking. His entire frame is shaking, lungs heaving. “I don’t… I fucking… I can’t…”

Gary sighs. He takes his hand off of the doorframe, and Jeremiah twists the handle. Gary gives him a final glance.

“Okay. I… I understand,” he says. The corner of his mouth quirks upward, but his eyes are tinged crimson. Jeremiah gives him a nod in return.

Without another word, Jeremiah treads out of Gary’s apartment, letting the door close shut behind him with a click. The memory of Gary’s expression is grafted into his memory like a cattle brand, red-hot.

Jeremiah can’t look back. Not if he wants to hold it together. So, he doesn’t.

\-----

Gary doesn’t sleep well. His brain is running a marathon a minute, and it’s unlikely to stop any time soon. When light emerges from the cracks in the shades, he begrudgingly forces himself out of bed, ready to face whatever horrors the day might hold.

He checks his phone. _No new messages. 0 missed calls._ He wasn’t expecting any.

Gary must have gotten too close. He doesn’t know how. But he can't think of any other explanation that makes _sense._ Maybe Gary said something in his sleep? Expressed his undying love and primal desire to dance naked under the moonlight? Jeremiah (poor, straight Jeremiah) discovered the depth of Gary’s feelings, freaked out, and now Gary was paying for it. 

He feeds his cats, which are reclusive as ever, and they give him a judgmental eye. Tabitha meows at him angrily when he forgets to refill the bowl of water.

Gary groans. “Ugh, God, I’m so…”

She rubs against his leg, pawing at his pajama pants. While pouring the water in the coffee machine (he can't fathom going to Beanies'), he catches a glimpse of his coatrack out of the corner of his eye. He accidentally pours water on his shirt sleeve. Gary sighs.

After patting his sleeve down with a paper towel and sidestepping his cats, he walks over. Certainly enough, something is different. 

Jeremiah left his coat. 

Gary picks it up from its secure place on the rack. It has a noticeable amount of wear on the sleeves and lower hem, but it’s warm, despite doing little to insulate from the cold, and smells like Jeremiah's shampoo.

However, as he picks it up, a blue and white wad of fabric falls out of the left pocket. It hits the floor without a sound, haphazardly folded.

Gary returns the coat to its place on the rack. The scrap looks eerily familiar. But as he turns it over in his hands, running it over his fingers, he remembers. It’s the scarf that Gary gave Jeremiah on that first night.

_Jeremiah kept the scarf._

Gary should be upset. He assumed Jeremiah had lost it, or even got rid of it. Jeremiah certainly never brought it up again, and he made no effort to return it. Gary had bought himself a new one and never bothered thinking about it again. But Jeremiah _kept it._

His face turns a deep crimson against his will. It’s not winter anymore. Gary could understand wearing a coat in April (Michigan _is_ freezing, even by Gary’s standards), and Jeremiah typically runs colder than the average person. But there’s no reason for Jeremiah to carry around a _scarf_ in April.

He figures Jeremiah forgot to take it out when the season changed. But, still, Gary’s flush remains.

Making a split-second decision, Gary seizes the scarf and places it in the cabinet by the fridge. And then, he texts Jeremiah.

\-----

_[Hey, Jeremiah. I know you don’t want to be disturbed._ _But I’m sorry. I still… I don’t know what exactly happened, but I’m sorry. I have a theory… but I apologize for any inappropriate behavior I may have committed. I wasn’t thinking straight.]_

 _[You left your coat, yesterday],_ Gary continues. _[I know how you get about the cold, so you can pick it up whenever you want. I don’t mind. J_ _ust give me a call. Please. I’m worried about you.]_

\-----

A week later, at 2am, Gary’s phone lights up. He wipes the sleep from his eyes as he squints through the stain.

_[can i pick it up at 4 tomorrow?]_

Gary sighs, relieved. _[Sure],_ he responds.

\-----

Jeremiah is walking into a goddamn minefield. 

He knocks at Gary’s door, feeling exactly the same (if not substantially worse) than last week. Tension coils like a snake, deep in his gut, making him antsy and giving him the urge to lash out.

He doesn’t know why Gary wants to see him so fucking desperately. Jeremiah has been trying to ignore his feelings for Gary ever since the _‘Hey, sorry I caressed your face while you were asleep, that was creepy. No homo’_ moment. Gary had to have seen him.

Unless he _didn’t_ see, and Jeremiah is just making a giant goddamn fool of himself and alienating his only close friend in the process. Or, Gary could be inviting him over to tell him off his feelings, which seems equally possible.

Gary _also_ could have invited him over just to torture him, sadistically, and to laugh at the misfortune of Jeremiah's _feelings._ But Jeremiah doubts Gary would be that cruel. When the first knock receives no answer, he knocks again. Gary opens the door.

Gary looks… largely the same, surprisingly enough. He’s in his trademark suit and appears like he just got off from work. His hair seems ruffled and crimped in certain areas, slightly disheveled.

“Hey, Mi- Jeremiah,” he says. “Sorry. Come in, if you want.”

Jeremiah waves him off and enters the apartment. It hasn’t changed, except for the cat on the counter playing with Gary’s keys. Gary picks up the trenchcoat from a side table, neatly folded, with a sticky note labeled _JEREMIAH_ on the front of it, in messy handwriting.

“Here's your coat,” Gary states, stiffly, before walking towards his fridge and grabbing a glass. “I’m getting a water. Do you want one?”

“Uhh… sure, thanks.”

Jeremiah plucks off the sticky note and puts on the coat immediately. Losing his trenchcoat felt like a piece of his goddamn _soul_ was ripped out. How was he supposed to uphold his scary nurse aesthetic? And _God,_ people actually thought he _wasn’t_ terrifying when he didn’t wear it, which was _entirely_ unacceptable. 

Gary pulls two glasses out of the cabinet and fills them with ice water from the fridge. Jeremiah can see Gary scowling now.

However, when he puts his hand in the left pocket, the familiar shape of the scarf was gone. He checks the other pocket. Nothing. Just empty space; a bottomless, Gary’s-scarfless _void._

 _Fuck,_ Jeremiah thinks.

Jeremiah looks around feverishly, trying to avoid Gary’s gaze. Did he _drop it?_ There are only so many places he could have lost it. He scans the place near the coat rack and checks the spot near the couch while Gary is distracted. Eventually, he returns to the kitchen, and Gary presents him with a glass of water.

“Looking for something?” Gary asks, eyebrow raised.

Jeremiah blanches. “Uhh… nope, fuck no, definitely not. Just enjoying this glass of water,” he chokes.

“Ah,” Gary says. “Right…”

“It’s cold. Clear. Crisp. Goddamn delectable shit, I’m telling you,” he continues. “I can… uhh… taste the minerals,” he adds awkwardly

“Yes, uhh… of course!”

Jeremiah mimes drinking his water for another 30 seconds or so, giving up on the mission to look for his scarf. After a long pause, Gary sighs awkwardly. The tension in the room is palpable. Gary puts his cup on the counter.

Jeremiah knows he should leave. Gary doesn’t seem entirely happy with him, and honestly, Jeremiah can’t fucking blame him; he’s being a dick, and he knows it. But what can he do, exactly? What's the alternative? Making a fool out of himself, seeing the pure disgust in Gary's eyes?

“Listen… Jeremiah.”

_Ah fuck, here it comes._

“I don’t…“ Gary pauses. “I don’t know what’s wrong. I know you’re upset for some reason, but I don’t understand why.

“Like, I know something happened. And it’s something to do with me. But… Like I said, I was really out of it. So if I said something, or if I did something, then I-”

 _Oh, fuck._ Jeremiah falters. _So he doesn’t know?_

“What? Shit, No, you didn’t do anything.”

Gary seems surprised. “Oh,” he admits, nonplussed. “Huh."

"Huh."

"Then…" Gary trails off. "What actually happened? Did you...?"

Jeremiah takes a deep breath, but he can’t answer, at least not at first. Gary looks at him with a quizzical expression.

“I… I can’t tell you,” he says automatically. Gary eyes him warily and shuffles on his feet. "I want to, and you deserve to know, but I can't."

“What? What’s that supposed to me-”

“I just…” Jeremiah trails off. “I just fucking _can’t,_ Gary. I just… You know what? It doesn’t matter now, anyway.”

“Jeremiah, I know you’re pissed,” he starts. “And you want to run away from whatever’s bugging you. But you don’t have to. I’m here. I _care,_ ” he says, gesturing to his chest. “Running away doesn’t solve _anything!_ Even if you keep trying to avoid it, it’s going to creep up on you; and eventually, you won’t be able to run anymore.

“I can help, I think. Whatever you need, I’m here,” Gary says, finally. He places a hand on Jeremiah’s shoulder and looks him in the eye. “Is it something at work? Or a family member? Or-”

Jeremiah’s heart lurches under Gary’s gaze, downy-soft, and sincere. They’re standing incredibly close, Jeremiah realizes. Too close. He averts his eyes and fists his hand into his pocket, turning away from Gary. He begins to pace the length of the hall.

“No… fuck, just…”

Gary turns around and walks towards his kitchen. He rubs the back of his cats’ heads on the counter, before opening a drawer near the fridge. Jeremiah hears it close again. He turns to face Gary.

“Is it something to do with this?”

Gary holds up the scarf. Gary’s scarf, the one that Jeremiah stole. Gary must have found it, goddamn him, and now he’s walking towards Jeremiah, expression tender. Jeremiah's blood runs cold.

“I gave this to you that first night, didn’t I?” he says. “I had forgotten, actually. I assumed you had just thrown it in a drawer somewhere, and it slipped my mind, but… you kept it, didn’t you? In your coat.”

“I… yeah, but…”

“Why?” Gary questions. He’s now directly in front of Jeremiah, looking down at the scarf in his hands.

“I was cold?” he says, but he’s not confident. 

"In April?"

Jeremiah groans. “I don’t fucking know, Gare. I’m just…“

Gary looks back up at him, face unnervingly blank. He lifts up the scarf, expectantly. Jeremiah complies, bending his head down as Gary wrapping it around his neck, careful to tie the ends loosely. They’re standing very close together again.

“Just what?” Gary asks, expectantly, but soft. “You can say it.”

"I..."

Jeremiah wants to run and hide like the goddamn coward he is. And, normally? He would, in a heartbeat. No hesitation. He’s not a proud man, by any standard; but this time, for Gary? He doesn’t. He stands his ground. He doesn’t falter. 

"You can tell me, Miah. _Please,_ tell me."

Jeremiah fights the urge to curse his frustration as Gary’s hand begins to move upwards towards his hair and face. His long fingers trace shapes along the outline of his coat. Jeremiah takes a deep breath, bracing himself.

“Fuck… I’m… I’m in love with you, Gary,” he says, voice breaking. 

Gary shuts his eyes. He weighs his options. And then, he pulls Jeremiah in for a kiss by the edge of his scarf.

Jeremiah’s brow knits for half a second, before going smooth as his eyelids flutter shut in turn. Gary places a hand against his jaw and moves his other arm so that he’s holding the small of Jeremiah’s back. He slips his hands under Gary's suit jacket to rest against the warm fabric his vest.

It’s a good kiss, but way too short. Gary breaks it first, to breathe and to adjust his glasses as they slide down the slope of his nose. He’s blushing neon, and his lower lip is slightly swollen.

Unsatisfied, Jeremiah quirks an eyebrow at him before pulling him in by the tie. He kisses him again.

It’s as if the world stops. Gary’s tilts his head to get a better angle as Jeremiah pulls him closer against him. Relief and pure, un-fucking-bridled joy flows through his core as Gary laughs through their embrace. Gary’s lips are surprisingly soft, to Jeremiah’s pleasure, and it’s so much better than he could have even fucking _dreamed_ of.

Jeremiah slips the tip of his tongue into Gary’s mouth, and Gary makes a soft noise before returning it. The frames of Gary’s glasses press into his skin slightly, but Jeremiah doesn’t care. God. _Fuck._ He'll never care ever again. He releases the tie as Gary’s hand trails up and down the side of his back. Eventually, Jeremiah’s hands find a home in Gary’s hair. His thick brunet locks are slightly damp, to Jeremiah's surprise.

He finally pulls away, but not before Gary places another soft kiss on the bridge of his nose.

Jeremiah chuckles. “You’re a goddamn dork,” he says, speechless. _God, Jeremiah loves him._ To whomever he killed in a past life to get this kind of heaven-on-earth, he should be indebted to them for the next thousand years or so.

“Love you too, Miah,” he says, leaning on Jeremiah’s shoulder. He breathes into the fabric of his coat. “I’ve loved you for a long while, actually”

Jeremiah makes a _hmph_ before pulling Gary slightly closer to him in their embrace. He kisses below Gary’s ear and then on his shoulder. A chuckle makes its way up from Gary's throat, and Miah is _very pleased._

“Why didn’t you say something? I almost had a goddamn heart attack - I thought you were gonna tell me to go fuck myself.”

“I don’t know…“ Gary admits. “I was scared, I guess. I thought you weren’t interested. Hell, I thought you were _straight.”_

Jeremiah cringes and points a finger at Gary's nose. “You looked at me... and so-eloquently observed: 'That's a heterosexual?"'

"Hmm. Okay, yeah, I see your point."

He laughs into Gary’s hair. "Damn."

“I know,” he says affectionately, tracing his fingers over Jeremiah’s arm. "Miah."

They stand like that for a solid minute, taking in each other's embrace. Gary will occasionally press a kiss to his cheek, and Jeremiah's hands make their way into Gary's vest once again. It's nice. 

Jeremiah breaks the silence. “Actually, I don’t have work for another… ah, shit, three hours or so.”

“And?”

“What would you say if I offered to take you on a _real-ass_ date? Hm? No more pretending.”

Gary emerges from his spot on Jeremiah’s shoulder and beams at him, kissing him one more time on the cheek. It’s chaste, of course, but it still makes Jeremiah flush all the same. Jeremiah can already tell that he’s going to enjoy kissing Gary _very much._

“I’d like that,” Gary says, grabbing his hand. “I’d like that a lot.”

“Fuck yeah. Let’s go then,” Jeremiah smirks.

\-----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They actually just get Chinese takeout from the corner shop on Jeremiah’s street, for shortness of time’s sake. And, of course, it’s not perfect; nothing ever is. But, it’s all that Jeremiah and Gary need.
> 
> It’s the same as before, in a way. There isn’t any big change in their relationship dynamic - Gary still presses all of Jeremiah’s buttons, and Jeremiah presses Gary’s in return. But, while holding Gary’s hand, Jeremiah is the happiest he’s been in a long time. And, even after all of the damn pining, he wouldn’t trade it for anything in the whole goddamn world.


	4. epilogue.

epilogue.

\-----

_7 months later._

_08:09:22, Friday, November 23, 2018_

Living with Gary is surprisingly easier than Jeremiah had expected.

Jeremiah gives himself a firm glare in the mirror as he pins his hair back from his face, already having donned his scrubs. Gary nudges his way passed him, grabbing a container of floss from the bathroom drawer. Jeremiah mutters a quiet curse at him, but Gary laughs and bumps into him harder.

Jeremiah finally got put on the AM shift last month, so their schedules are synchronized now. Jeremiah's annoyed that it took so damn long, but Gary’s just excited that he gets more time with his boyfriend.

They’re _boyfriends._ Sometimes, it still makes Jeremiah want to laugh. Or commit arson. But Jeremiah loves it; he loves Gary, in his own, twisted, emotionally stunted way. 

Of course, things aren’t perfect, not all the time. They bicker and argue about stupid things for way too long, and both of them are too stubborn to do anything about it. Jeremiah’s emotionally volatile, and Gary’s chronically uptight. But, somehow, they make it work. He would kill someone if they asked, but Jeremiah is proud of them.

Jeremiah picks up his coat from the foot of the bed and makes sure his ID cards are all in the right spot - unfortunately, it’s a new coat. Gary spilled something on the other one and insisted on replacing it - while Gary paces.

“It’s gonna be hell at the office today,” Gary groans as he vacates the bathroom, putting on a dress shirt. “Worst day of the year, Miah, I swear.”

Jeremiah’s brow knits. “Friday the… 23rd?”

Gary rolls his eyes. “Black Friday.”

“Ah, shit,” Jeremiah remembers. He puts on his trenchcoat. “Yeah. People are fuckin’ nuts, aren’t they?”

He ties Gary’s tie for him in a long-established routine, while Gary cleans the lenses of his glasses.

“There’s this toy… Cuddle Me Wiggly, I think?” Gary muses. “No, that’s not right. Uhh… You know, the one with the commercials that show up every time you turn on the TV,” Gary says.

“Tickle Me Wiggly. Yeah, I remember. I fucking _hate_ that thing. It’s so goddamn creepy, it looks like it would murder me in my damn sleep. _No-fucking-thank-you._ I’ll pass. I don’t need that shit.”

“People are going crazy over it, though,” Gary continues. “There’ll be audits, I can already tell.”

“Why would so many people want such a _shitty-ass_ doll? Don’t they have better things to spend their cash on?”

“Evidently not.”

Jeremiah finishes tying Gary’s tie and presses the collar smooth while Gary puts on his coat. When he finishes, Gary reaches onto the bed and grabs ahold of a familiar blue scrap of fabric.

Jeremiah rolls his eyes and bows his head, allowing Gary to tie the scarf around his neck. With winter approaching, Jeremiah has adapted it to become a permanent part of his wardrobe. It’s fucking sappy, of course, but Jeremiah loves it. Gary ties the scarf into a loose knot, barely touching the surface of his neck.

“They’re actually… cute, in a terrifying kind of way,” Gary says. “One day, a… _long_ time ago, I might have thought about getting one. But I don’t need one.”

He gives Jeremiah a kiss on the cheek. Jeremiah flushes, and mock gags.

“Ugh, you’re such a fuckin' nerd,” Jeremiah groans. “Stop it.”

Gary quirks an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? I’ll say it again. I don’t need a wiggly; why would I, when I have _you?"_

Jeremiah's flush deepens. He'd die for him - or, he’ll kill him, one of the two. “You’re a cute bastard, but knock it off. You’re gonna make me spontaneously combust.”

“Hm,” Gary challenges, licking his lip. He looks Jeremiah up and down. “I dunno. Make me.”

Jeremiah furrows his brow and kisses him, _hard,_ hitting his nose on the frames of Gary’s glasses. Gary moans into his mouth as he pulls him in by his tie, and threads his fingers in between the strands of Jeremiah’s hair.

After a beat, Gary grabs his ass. Gary is _very_ good at that. _Thanks, libido,_ coming in clutch right before his shift. He adjusts his pants haphazardly.

Ah. _Work._ Jeremiah almost forgot that his supervisor promised to beat his ass if he’s late again, and he doesn't want to get put on the night shift again. Jeremiah breaks the kiss.

 _“Later,”_ Jeremiah says with a hoarse groan. “We’re already late, Gare.”

“Fine,” Gary sighs.

“Ah, shit, don’t give me that look. It’s not just me. _We’re_ in a hurry, aren’t we?”

Gary looks unamused, but his mouth quirks upwards in a smile. “Yeah. Still, though…”

Jeremiah grabs his keys off the foot of the bed and walks towards the kitchen. Gary follows him, turning off the lights and grabbing his wallet.

“I’ll make it up to you, later, beanpole,” Jeremiah says, turning towards Gary, giving him a wink.

Gary rolls his eyes and shuts off the lights in the kitchen. He grabs his lunch from the counter. Jeremiah unlocks the front door and steps into the hall, pausing for Gary to step out behind him. Jeremiah jams his keys into the door (he’s still bad with keys, unfortunately), and Gary waits for him.

They take the elevator in comfortable silence, Jeremiah checking his phone, and Gary playing with the fabric of his sleeve. It dings, and they step into the garage. Gary waves to a neighbor who passes them as they exit.

When Gary reaches his car, he leans against the rear and gives Jeremiah an expectant look. Jeremiah rolls his eyes and gives him a quick, routine peck on the cheek, and a muffled _“‘love you.”_

“Love you too. I’ll be off at 5:30. Try not to blow a gasket at the hospital. I know how you get.”

“Wouldn’t fuckin’ dream of it,” he smirks. “Seeya, Gare.”

Jeremiah gives Gary a wave as he walks off to get in his car. He sees Gary’s Porsche pull out of the lot as he opens the door, sliding into the front seat and throwing his bag in the back. Jeremiah starts the car.

It’s cold, today. _Fucking freezing, actually,_ Jeremiah thinks bitterly. The ice is nothing to make light of, even in the car; his breath is still coming out in white puffs, and his fingers feel like they’ll freeze if they stay in one place for too long. _God,_ he doesn’t know why he still chooses to live here. Icy temperatures and Jeremiah do not mix. For a brief moment, he contemplates kidnapping Gary and moving to the Bahamas.

But, for once, he doesn’t _feel_ the cold. Not really, at least. Jeremiah presses his fingers to the scarf wrapped around his neck. It’s warm. Comforting, in its own way. He can’t imagine a future without Gary- or his dumb scarf- anymore.

Hatchetfield is definitely still cold. But for now, Jeremiah can't feel the chill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and... it's done! yaaaay! 
> 
> this took me around 2 months, on and off. but these two Seriously deserved a happy ending. i absolutely adore their dynamic. i tried to capture it as best i could while making it realistic. and once again, big thank you to zoe, i couldn't have done it without her :bonk:.
> 
> EDIT: i made an aiah spotify playlist, if any of you are interested! >:D  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4mNVzmCknABZaDLDWxbnTz?si=GnnZloDrR_-7gDjK8UtsVQ


End file.
